Authority
by dear cecil
Summary: Medic is, on the field and in his office, a man who loves to be in charge. In more intimate affairs, however, Spy learns that the man can be quite different. Warnings: Sex, power play, weird dirty talk.


Wrote a little paragraph in a WiP about Spy remembering the sounds Medic apparently makes during sex. A friend asked what, exactly, those noises might be like, and this was whipped up in a jiffy.

* * *

The RED Spy clutched his side as he walked into his Medic's infirmary, his teeth stuck as firmly together as if he had glued them shut. The man looked him up and down with a mere glance, his glasses glinting a bit in the harsh, manufactured light of the office as he motioned for Spy to take a seat. "What seems to be the problem, Herr Spy?" he asked. He didn't sound very interested.

"I was fucking stabbed just before the match ended, and as I am not entirely sure of the machine's… abilities during downtime, I felt much more comfortable coming to you."

"I have been told that the system still operates even when there is not a battle in progress," Medic said even as he sat in his soft, leather chair and rolled it toward the cot. "Take off your coat."

Spy obliged, hissing as the cloth of his shirt pulled at the wound, much of the blood dried to his skin. "It is a mess."

"Yes, well, stab wounds usually are," Medic said casually as he peered at the slashed cloth and red stain on Spy's shirt. "Normally I would simply heal this with the Medigun, but we are not fighting, so, of course, I am not authorized to do so. If you could take off the shirt as well?"

Spy winced when the skin around his wound was disturbed again; this time, his body hair was tugged by the dried blood as well, causing him to wince very much against his will. He smiled tightly at Medic's raised eyebrows, and forced himself not to flinch away as the doctor prodded softly at the injury with a gloved finger. "It is not very deep, but sometimes it is the small wounds—"

"Which hurt the most," Medic finished for him, nodding in understanding. "Ja, that is very true. All right, lie down." He turned as he gave the command, clearly confident that Spy would follow his orders. He did—the man was a doctor, and known for… punishing those patients of his who disobeyed—but his fingers twitched a bit as he watched the man return with a needle and a seemingly innocuous spool of clear thread.

"I, regrettably, have no pain-killers on this site." Medic did not look at all regretful as he smiled down at Spy, who could only laugh.

"Then please, if you could finish it quickly…?"

Medic's response was to grin and immediately set into him with needle and thread, pulling and fastening his flesh together. The sick, tugging feeling of it make Spy groan more than once. He stared at the doctor's face, reluctant to look down at his stomach.

The man was clearly excited by the procedure. Spy's heavy suspicions that the man was a sadist were more than confirmed, even if his hands remained steady as he closed the wound completely, snipping the thread cleanly with a small pair of scissors he had lain on the cot next to Spy's leg. He brushed his fingertips over the skin near the wound, and Spy smirked, though he knew it must look weaker than his other ones.

"You were made to be a doctor," he said with only a touch of sarcasm. "You… enjoy it so much."

Medic merely smiled before putting away his utensils. "Is it truly that obvious, Herr Spy?"

"It is written all over you," Spy said as he pushed himself up, groaning against the pain that was still there, moving slowly so the stitches wouldn't tear. "In your eyes, your smile, even your fucking hands. Although, there is a more obvious spot at the moment." He motioned casually to the doctor's crotch, and the man shook his head with a falsely shamed chuckle.

"It was the blood," he said after a moment, smiling at Spy as though he had known what the outcome of this would be since the moment he had stepped through the infirmary door. He probably had—the infirmary was Medic's domain in a way that even Spy could not fully infiltrate, nor understand.

"My stitches may rip, doctor," Spy said.

"I can redo them. Besides… it will be a benefit for me."

Spy snorted. "I suppose you would like to cut me, then? Slit me open, spill out my insides? See how I… tick?" He let his voice drop, his gaze completely dominating Medic's. He would never let it get so far, of course, but to see the way the man shook when confronted with the mere idea of it was exhilarating. "You want to do it—I can see it. What else do you want to do to me, Medic?"

The doctor's breaths came faster as he watched Spy. "Feel you, of course. See you—understand, learn." His grin was less mirth, more a baring of teeth. "Or maybe simply grab hold of your nerves and make you my sick, little puppet. Drag my nails over your muscles. Watch you bleed."

Spy was unsure whether his shiver was of fear or arousal, but he didn't care. "How would you get me there? Shove me up against a wall? Bend me over, perhaps; fuck me until I am senseless, begging for you to become my master, make me your doll—"

Medic bit his lip, but shook his head, gasping shortly. "Too easy. I would need to turn on you, you see. Switch the position of power. Be yours, completely, and one day simply—turn against you—stab you as you pounded me into the wall—let you… see."

Spy stood from his seat on the cot, stalking toward Medic, the grin on his face completely predatory as he backed the man up against one of his counters. "But my dear doctor," he purred, "you seem to be operating under the delusion that I would _allow_ you to turn against me." He pushed Medic's arms against the counter, gripping them hard as he leaned into the man's personal space. "And I will not allow you to do anything I do not enjoy, Medic."

Medic strained against Spy's grip, so he pressed down harder, knowing the edge of the counter must be digging into his arms, his back. He ground his knee into the man's groin and laughed.

"You are under my control now, doctor," he said simply. He kissed the man, their teeth clacking together for a second as Medic moaned, went limper beneath his hold even as he pushed his hips toward him. "Tell me how much you like it."

"I love it," Medic groaned, sighing. He tried to kiss Spy again, and was met by a glare. He bit his lip and stopped. "Please?"

"No," Spy told him. He wasn't smiling, but only with great effort; he wanted to grin as he watched the man, normally so authoritative, fall apart so easily before him. So readily, as though he had fantasized about it before. "I bet you've dreamed of this, haven't you?"

"So often," Medic confessed as he stared at Spy's lips. His gaze roved down the man's body obscenely; Spy could feel himself being taken apart by those eyes, examined as thoroughly as any specimen on a scientist's table. He roughly turned Medic around, gripping his hips hard as he pressed him into the counter, breathing onto his neck.

"Tell me what you want." His answer was in shaking German. Spy pushed him harder as a punishment. "In English." He knew it would be a struggle for the man, who still constructed some of his sentences oddly; who still slipped into his old language far too often for any man who truly wanted to master a new one.

"B— Please," Medic moaned, "I want you to—" He whined, rubbing back against Spy, his breaths coming out like sobs as Spy dug his fingers harder into Medic's hips.

"Tell me, or I will leave you here," Spy threatened. "A fucking whore who cannot even speak does not deserve to get what he wants."

"Oh, Gott," Medic whimpered, "just fuck me, please, I—"

Spy kissed the back of his neck while he roughly pushed up the man's coat, pulled down his pants and briefs, dragged his nails over the skin he'd just been gripping. It was red, and he wondered if it would bruise. "Just fuck you? No time to tease you, no sweet words—" he gripped Medic's cock, whispered meaningless French softly into his ears for a moment, before rubbing his hands back up and over the man's stomach "—nothing but that?"

"Yes," Medic hissed. "Just fuck me."

"Exactly what a whore like you would ask for," Spy said with a hard smile before tugging his own pants down just enough; slowly, precisely grabbing a tube of some sort of lubricant from the countertop; drizzling it onto one of his hands as he trapped Medic using only the weight of his body, the press of his hips against his ass; slicking it onto his cock, rubbing it into the man before him, chuckling at the shudders it elicited from him.

It seemed as though the Medic had forgotten all English outside of "yes" and "please" as Spy thrust into him, grabbing him hard around the sides, groaning as the doctor moaned beneath him. His voice reached a higher pitch at some moments—particularly those when Spy pulled almost all the way out, slowly, then shoved himself back in—than he might have thought capable. For every thrust Spy made, Medic went to meet it with enthusiasm, crying out with pleasure at all of their movements, the rubber of his gloves creaking as he balled his hands in and out of fists.

"Yes," Spy muttered to him, "you like it, you love it, you can't get enough— Fuck yourself on me, you slut; ride me like you want to—"

"Ja—"

"You're so tight; this ass is only for me to use, isn't it? Mine to do whatever I want with—"

"J-Ja—"

Spy gripped Medic's cock and bit his shoulder although he was clothed, his tongue pressing against the white fabric of the doctor's coat as he jerked him, his laughter muffled as Medic came, his moans mingled with curses and endearments and his title all in German, jumbled, confused; his hips moving wildly as he rode out his pleasure; his little groan of happiness as Spy came inside of him, teeth clamping down hard than ever.

After a minute or so, the Medic lifted himself up from the counter with shaky arms, and turned to hand Spy a small, white cloth. He moaned when Spy pulled out of him and let himself slump over the counter again.

Spy was considerate enough to clean the doctor up and button his pants for him, guiding him to his soft, leather chair.

"Medic?" Spy ventured as he refitted his own trousers, inspecting his newly sutured wound (it was a bit red) before pulling his shirt on.

"Ja?" the doctor asked after a long pause. He had a sloppy smile on his face, and his glasses were crooked. Spy leaned down to straighten them for him, and kissed the man once again, this time with little force on either side.

"Merci."

"Ja, no problem."


End file.
